


Dreamer of the Day

by thetrickisnotminding



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Gender Role Issues, Gen, M/M, Magical Disasters, Retelling, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:53:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetrickisnotminding/pseuds/thetrickisnotminding
Summary: Thomas Edward Lawrence, a Warlord Prince of the Blood in a war far from home.Technically.





	1. All Men Dream, But Not Equally

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is in many ways a Black Jewels-verse 'translation' of the 1962 film. Many of the historical reworkings of that film were therefore incorporated. But how could I resist making Gertrude Bell a literal queen in the desert?
> 
> Thanks, as ever, to azarias.

Lawrence savored the sting as the needle pierced his fingertip.

William Potter, watching, rolled his eyes as the drop of blood fell from Lawrence's finger and spread across the paper, etching out rivers and mountains.

"That is so unnecessary. If you /want/ to get hurt, Lawrence, shouldn't a lady be involved somewhere?"

"Do you want ladies out here, William Potter?" Lawrence asked in a quietly bizarre lilt.

"Well, no." When women of the Blood had to go to war, the death toll escalated exponentially. This war was bad enough as a dozen Territorial Queens, in their hodgepodge alliances, fought each other by proxy. No one who liked living wanted to see them get /personal/.

"I thought not. Besides, ladies are busy people. I've grown enough to manage myself."

William Potter glanced between the Summer-Sky Jewel at Lawrence's throat and the matching eyes. "I thought your being grown was something of a debate."

"Oh, that'll be soon, now, William Potter. Soon enough. That's a meeting that has to be done just right."

Lawrence first had to attend  a very different meeting, one with his commanding officer, Archibald Murray. He did not manage to walk across the building before it happened: another call to stop, another set of stupid questions. Lawrence reminded  himself that there were worse things than loud little men with assumptions about his ...unique approach to Protocol. So many worse things, including actually changing his approach based on how those loud little men blustered at a distant look or lilting tone.  The unjustified accusations were carefully couched in Protocol themselves, since no one at the base was suicidal--though as time passed, Lawrence's colleagues had begun to treat him with slightly less care than the average warlord prince.

When Lawrence entered his superior's office, he found Murray conversing with a stranger, a slight prince in Opals.

"It’s downright unnatural. Honestly," Murray was telling the guest. "I'm not positive he doesn't use some kind of potion."

"Potion for what, Sir?" Lawrence asked from the doorway.

Murray met his eyes sternly. "For falsifying your caste, Lawrence."

Lawrence cast his eyes down demurely. "Nearly impossible to keep that up long term, Sir. Particularly with these," he said, gesturing to his Jewels.

Murray scowled. "Indeed. Dryden, if Lady Bell wants the man so bad, she should at least have him as an actual man. Order him down to an altar or something."

Lawrence looked up at the name. Gertrude Bell  was a very mobile queen who solved problems for Queen Louise. Lawrence had worked directly with her before, analyzing information as roomfuls of Western males tiptoed around the potential wishes of the only queen for miles who spoke their language.

"Prince Murray, the interest is less in Prince Lawrence's combat capabilities," Dryden said. "She just wants another pair of eyes." 

"Honor to serve, Sir," Lawrence said. "Where is she?"

"She doesn't want you with her, Lawrence. She wants you in the middle of the Darkness-forsaken desert."

Lawrence smiled. "Pleasure to serve, Sir. When do I start?"

After good-byes observing barest Protocol with Murray, the two made their way out. 

"I trust you don't intend to wear your Birthright Jewels forever?" Dryden asked. "You'll make your offering?"

"Someday soon."

Dryden shrugged. "That's between you and the Darkness, then. Just get yourself to our allies in the Abdiyan Rebellion and get a feel for what's going on."

And go he did.

 

***

 

Under the merciless desert sun, Lawrence had made a friend. Lawrence liked to have friends. For one thing, it was so nice to write them letters.

This friend was directing Lawrence to Prince Faisal, First Escort to his aging mother, a rebel queen in a part of Devlet Territory. Well, not Devlet territory forever. 

"This is going to be a little distasteful," Tafas said, adjusting his own Summer-Sky Jewels nervously. "But we are going to stop at this well."

"Distasteful?" Lawrence asked as he dismounted. "Is it a landen well? You know, it is actually quite unlikely that they carry much more disease than we do."

"No, no," the guide said as he drew the water. "But the owner...well, were there not the Devlet to think of..." They drank some water, and Tafas began to draw more as Lawrence leaned against a rock and tried to assess their path so far with Craft.

He looked up at the start of a splash and found Tafas staring into the distance. Following his gaze, Lawrence saw a dark spot on the horizon, slowing growing.

"Devlet?" Lawrence asked, but Tafas shook his head. They watched in silence as the spot gradually became a distant figure riding towards them. 

Tafas began to draw on his Jewels frantically, clumsily readying an attack.

"Tafas, you just said it wasn't--"

A green bolt came from just short of the horizon, and Tafas fell back and did not rise, blood beginning to soak the sand.

The distant figure was no longer distant. A man road up, and Lawrence caught the glint of Green Jewels and scent of a warlord prince.

"He is dead."

"Yes," said Lawrence. "Why?"

"This is my well," the man said, reaching through Craft to make the body rise slightly from the ground.

"I have drunk from it."

"You are welcome. Why were you with him?"

"He was taking me to help Prince Faisal."

"I am Ali ibn el Kharish."

"I have heard of you."

"My lord Faisal already has an advisor from his mother's allies to the West. One with pale, pale Opals." An eye flicked to the even paler Summer-Sky Jewels. "Still, you are welcome."

"Again, why?"

"Why are you, a warlord prince and emissary of an allied queen, welcome?" Ali asked as the bleeding corpse circled the well again and again, painting macabre circles. "I am hardly a man to flout Protocol."

"Then there will be arrangements to handle the blood debt for my friend?" Lawrence asked tensely.

"He knew he wasn't allowed at my well. So does my queen. I have disobeyed nothing." Ali vanished the corpse and turned away.

"Lord Ali, are you married?" Lawrence asked, his voice lilting softly even as he bit off each word.

Ali turned back with a smile. "Am I married? No."

"Because I was under the impression that an unwed man's first duty was to his queen. And that his service was even more important than his obedience. And a queen whose men kill each other pettily is ill-served."

There was a very long pause.

"I will take you to Prince Faisal."

"I will find my way."

"May the Darkness have mercy on you."


	2. Dream by Night, in the Dusty Recesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lawrence makes his mark.

"You'll have to fall back, Sir. Somewhere safe."

Prince Faisal--purely a prince, that dignity of rank and power that rarely brought out the edge--looked at the representatives of his allies very intently. "Ever since my mother first began this struggle--my mother and no Western queen--we have learned again and again our greatest disadvantage, compared both to our allies and to the Devlet government.”

Lawrence nodded, speaking up unexpectedly. “The drop over the past five centuries, within your mother’s province, in both the natural black widow birth rates and the survival rate of apprentices.”

Feisel nodded. “My people once trained some of the most radiantly twisted minds in all the world. And now our potions and defenses are …. poorer than others.”

Everyone else looked uncomfortable. "We can supply you if you fall back, Sir," the Major muttered again. "We... certainly don't want ladies in the field."

"Your ladies don't have to come in the field. They can hand you a bottle!"

"Those bottles don't come cheap, Sir. We'll have to see."

"Aqaba would be a better place to see from," Lawrence observed.

"The Aqaba shoreline has webs of protection that may as well have been woven by Spiders. You must fall back, Sir."

Prince Faisal sighed. "I suppose I must. Thank you."

As others started to leave, Faisal gestured for Lawrence to stay for a moment.

"Your colleagues are insinuating themselves into my mother's revolution because the Queen of All Devlet has an arrangement with your Queen Louise's least favorite cousin, and you hope to distract her forces."

"Essentially, Prince Faisal, yes."

"Does this seem like a sufficient reason to be out here, so far from home?"  Faisal looked at him intently. "Or is any reason a good one for you? I would love to be home. My mother should have better gardens, a last time to enrich the soil and watch things blossom in her final years. That is the problem I wish to be solving. But I am here, a First Escort escorting no one. The Queen of All Devlet is an abstract political question in the West. For us, she is the reason gardens cannot be cultivated. While she claims our lands, they will be too sick for gardens. At this rate, it will be too late for my mother to see real flowers bloom. But my sister ..." he stared intently at Lawrence. "My sister will have roses and apologize to no-one." 

A breath. "But before the gardens must come the fighting. And I will accept whatever insinuations lead to victory. Thank you, you may go."

 

***

Lawrence sat in the night, looking out into the darkness.  Was it time yet? No, not quite yet. Soon. But the problem was before him. And Thomas Edward Lawrence, son of a daughterless black widow, put himself, just a little ways, on the path of the Twisted Kingdom.

He managed to keep from going too far, numbered his ethereal steps to keep from being drawn with longing towards that well of darkness. He simply took in what he saw in those brief steps, and when he got out, he was sure. "Aqaba, from the land."

His simple plan did not go over well with Ali.

"Did someone /hurt/ you, Lawrence?" he asked incredulously. "Are you lost in the Twisted Kingdom?"

"I never get lost."

Ali wasn't even going to try to process that. "You will be lost indeed if you try to reach Aqaba by land. Between here and there is the Sun's Anvil."

"Yes."

"You would be throwing yourself into a religious metaphor! Pounding bright days with no corner that the Darkness can find. No refuge from a heat that will consume you. You will die forsaken."

"I don't intend to."

"Ah, yes, I am sure. You /intend/ to /walk/ the Anvil under a clear summer sky with nothing but one of your own. " He glanced at Lawrence's Jewels with a sigh, then at his eyes and, as he did not see the killing edge in them, his rant continued. "Then you will advance on Aqaba like Witch Herself, and the city will surrender to your glory before a spell is even cast."

Lawrence just smiled, clear blue eyes meeting Ali's. "I'm just a man, Ali, but I don't intend to go alone. Are you coming?"

Ali was at a loss for words for a moment. "And how many of my queen's forces do you intend to steal away into this madness?"

"Perhaps 50 men."

"50 men against Aqaba?"

"50 men who cross the Sun's Anvil are the sort other men might join."

"Between the Anvil and the city are nothing but married men whose wives like gold."

"Good fighters, though."

"...Yes," Ali said sulkily. "And will you simply ignore the infamous webbing?"

"Since it faces the sea and cannot be turned 'round, yes. They wove nothing on the landward side."

"They did not need to! This is impossible."

"What is impossible is to move forward while standing still. We must actually /go/ forward." As he spoke, Lawrence slowly leaned closer, soft. "We must put one foot in front of the other, step by step, inexorably towards ..." He trailed off, and there was the briefest of pauses as, Ali having mirrored him unconsciously, the two of them just looked at each other's faces, barely apart. "... towards what your Territory is to become," Lawrence resumed. "A Queen that loves it, no alliances with the wrong sort, all that. We don't get it waiting or retreating."

And thus they left camp with 50 men and the blessing of Queen Abdiya, reluctantly, through her First Escort.

The sun was merciless as it beat down on desert sand, and they weren't even to the Anvil yet.

Two teenage boys were following after Lawrence, their necks and hands empty of Jewels.  

  
"Do not feed the stray landen, Lawrence," called Gasim, one of the soldiers.

"We're not landen!" called Faraj. "We're half-Bloods!"

"We're really quite terrifying!" Daoud assured.

"You're not coming," Ali said. "You should not have come this far."

"But we're looking for work!" said Daoud, looking at Lawrence hopefully.

"You cannot even summon your own shoes," said Gasim.

"We've got hands and feet for that," Daoud answered.

"I promise, we count as people," Farraj said.

"And if we don't, we'll make great pets!" Daoud added.

  
Lawrence laughed. "You're hired."  

"Of course," said Ali. "50 men, everyone's mounts, two half-Blood children... none of these live were necessary, clearly. We must rest while we can. For two nights and a day, we must cross the Anvil."

They rested, and at dusk, they rode on towards the Anvil, where the sand became a fused sheet of glass stone, a white obsidian. 

Lawrence started to explain to his new staff the history behind the damage.

"So there was a girl fight, Sir?"

"Among other things, yes, Daoud."

On they went, pounding across the seemingly-endless expanse of white stone. The effect, when the day came, was blinding, and as they struggled forward, it grew worse with each passing hour that the sun grew high. The noonday brightness left no refuge.

Barely able to see each other, the small force went forward. And forward. 

When dusk finally came, the soothing darkness drawing near, they were almost off the anvil, within the night's ride of water.

All of them but one.

 

"Gasim is dead," Ali insisted as Lawrence turned around. "He's dead. Anything that comes out of where he fell will be /thirsting for blood/."

"Keep the boys with you for me, please."

"Why?" Ali called. "So you can /feast from their veins/ when you come back, a demon too stubborn for Hell?" 

"Don't be absurd," comes the mutter on the wind as Lawrence continues to ride back where they came. "Full Blood is more nutritious."

"You won't have my neck, you Summer-Sky madman!" Ali shouted. "Why did I ever listen to you?"

And Lawrence rode, searching, into the twilight. But one heat-stricken part of him was walking its own path, listening, all the way.

He found Gasim half dead, but only half. Lawrence pulled him up and turned around, and a part of him listened still, in a way he had for so many years.

And the whispers, so many whispers, became a clear voice. It was time. 

And as he rode, he took out the needle, and there was the old familiar sting. With no stone altar, nowhere to make a circle but his own skin, he painted the blood around his neck.

He rode on, and the visions were coming for so many reasons, and he'd started too late, but he kept at it.

And Thomas Edward Lawrence finished his Offering to the Darkness in the merciless gleam of the reflected sun.

He arrived at the oasis with a living man and Jewels of deep emerald.

He was greeted by cheers, a drinking-skin, and a very careful check by Ali which, when it was determined no one was demon-dead, ended in a smile.

Farraj and Daoud insisted on handling the laundry, and Ali eventually joined him by a small fire, where Lawrence was wearing the little he had left. 

"You are a strange man. What are your parents?"

"My mother is a Black Widow."

"That makes a sort of sense. She will be very proud."

"I doubt there is anything that could achieve that."

Ali could start to sense the little signs, the closest to a warlord prince's tension Lawrence had gotten since the well.

 "Well, surely your father, then."

"Ali, she denied him paternity."

Ali looked away. It was any women's legal right, to look at the man who'd sired her four-year-old child, who'd done his best to help raise that child, and tell the world 'the father is not here,' but it could be something of a scandal. Best not to escalate. "Well, today was a triumph."

"Yes."

And slowly the air relaxed again in the silence around them. Ali decided to take a different sort of risk. "You waited so long to make your offering."

"I wanted it to to be the best it could."

"With no altar? Riding on the Sun's Anvil?"

"Anywhere is an Altar to the Darkness with the right intent. Sometimes, people choose the time, and sometimes the time chooses us."

Ali slowly nodded. Then, "I suppose, with Birthright Jewels, you were not often asked to assist any young ladies on their Virgin Night."

"No, never."

"What about Court hospitality? Have you ever volunteered for that?"

"Not once."

Ali stretched out by the fire. "I have volunteered a great many times," he asserted.

"I don't doubt it."

"For both cases. Very different experiences, of course, between making a young woman feel comfortable and safe in the face the necessities of adult power and ... well, my queen's guests have been more interested in collective performances."

Lawrence smiled wryly. "Your queen is most hospitable."

"Do you think you will volunteer now that you are undeniably an adult? Depending on the lady?"

"I intend to avoid volunteering for any lady whatsoever."

"Ah." Ali chose this time to wave a hand, and Lawrence's clothes fell from their drying-place onto the flames. "I will replace them," he assured. "You will be going into battle soon with brand new Jewels. You should have brand new clothes as well."

Lawrence raised an eyebrow, leaning in. "And do you intend to wait with me in the night, as I face the prospect of my adult power?"

"Perhaps."

"The rules of safety are not the same for men, Ali."

"Of course not. And yet anyone can use company."

There was a pause. Ali’s dark eyes shone in the firelight. He set a hand between them on the blankets, halfway and no further. Lawrence looked at it for a moment, searching his own mind, before he set a hand overlapping it. Neither hand retracted at the touch of warm skin. No old worries echoed in Lawrence’s mind.

“Perhaps… just this once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, and to prevent inquiries, I don't actually tend to see movie Lawrence/Ali as getting physical. But different worlds make different circumstances.


	3. Wake to Find Vanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victory and other things

The next day, Lawrence fit comfortably into a fresh new set of locally-appropriate clothes, apparently sent to Ali by his mother, a district queen under Faisal's.

The small force met with Auda abu Tayi, a warlord prince and a married man. Auda greeted them on stallion-back, Sapphires flashing, in the name of his three wives, the three queens of his mobile village. Those wives joined them all for the first part of of a collective dinner, draped in shawls and veils of good, dark cloth, but soon excused themselves with the assurance their husband could handle any business.

"And what is the reason for your unusual travels?" he asked.

"As we said," Ali said pointedly, "we ride in the name of Queen Abdiya."

"As good a queen as any, for men who cannot do better," Auda drawled.

"Like the Queen of all Devlet?" Lawrence asked quietly, and Auda's men began to stir in their seats.

"You have seen the only queens I need," Auda said, his voice moving toward the edge.

"You take money from the Devlet government."

"Tribute, by which they avoid my wives' displeasure."

"Tribute?" Lawrence said. "It's a trifle. The Queen of All Devlet has many district queens and countless village queens under her. Those with the strength get prime positions or appointments, immersing them in the corruption to prevent their trying to stop it. They don't get a handful of coins thrown at them as a distraction."

"Are you implying that there is something wrong with my wives?" Auda snarled as Ali wondered if Lawrence understood how every other warlord prince on the planet worked.

"Of course not, Prince Auda," Lawrence said. "Your wives are magnificent."

"Indeed," said Auda, calming. 

"They must be a joy to serve, and they clearly made a fine decision in the immense trust that is marriage."

"Indeed." The edge was gone.

"And Tiger's Eyes are beautiful Jewels."

Ali silently begged the Darkness for both mercy and whatever this lunatic's intel source was.

Auda glared. "What my queens wear is of no concern in the light of all their husband wears and how he wears it."

"Exactly so. And that is why you will come with us: so that your wives will not watch a band of men ride off the Anvil and take a city without you."

"...You son of scorpions."

"Wrong arachnid."

 

***

After another day's' ride, the joint forces made camp, and Lawrence stared into the distance towards the city he would conquer in the morning. No one truly questioned it now.

Some ways away, there was shouting, and a pale purple flash.

And more shouting. Much more. As if multiple warlord princes, along with even some men of slightly greater stability, were just barely holding on to Protocol.

He found Ali, who simply muttered, "There can be no Aqaba now."

"My wives will not stand for this insult," Auda snarled.

"What insult?" asked Lawrence, already holding back a sigh, already seeing where this  would go.

"One of our men killed one of Auda's," Ali said.

Lawrence, looking at Auda, bit back a 'But did the deceased have it coming?' It was a reasonable enough explanation in some jurisdictions. People killed people. It happened, which was why Protocol had been invented to prevent bloodbaths and natural cycles of revenge. Which they seemed to be about to plunge into. 

Ali's queens were far away, and Lawrence's even further. None of them could be consulted without cancelling the entire operation after so much literal blood and sweat. They were about to move backward.

 "I see. Lord Auda, what will content your wives?"

"Blood for blood."

"If the killer is dead, they are reassured?"

"Yes."

"Lawrence," said Ali, "I cannot tell my queen I let one of our men be executed as blood-price by someone who /yesterday/ was funded by the Devlet."

"I promise you won't have to, Ali," Lawrence said, drawing on his Jewels grimly as he gestured the crowd to part. "You can tell her I did it." He steeled himself, face going blank.

And the crowd revealed a familiar figure.

Lawrence blinked. "Gasim... did you do it?"

A nod.  And Lawrence steeled his face again.

So there it was, Lawrence's very first flash of green. He went through the process. Feel the power. Lash out. And again. And again. Mother always said if you didn’t want demons, you had to keep at it until you drained the Jewels. And then again.

And then he shifted his breathing as he smelled the blood, trying to come back from the edge.

Trying not to think of what Felt So Right. So Clear. So Natural.

Everyone gave the warlord prince a little space.

"Why the surprise?" Auda asked Ali casually as the body fell to the ground.

"He pulled that man off the Anvil."

"Oh. Too bad he didn't let nature take its course and save us all some trouble, then."

The next day, Aqaba was seized from the Devlet in the name of the Abdiya Rebellion.

***

"This is absurd," Ali said.

"Taking Aqaba is a huge step forward for supply lines and reinforcement direction," Lawrence answered. "But only if our forces know what we have accomplished and send those things here from the nearest bases. No one can get a thread to them. There is no wind to ride there. The message will have to be sent overland."

"It is absurd to ride to Cairo. It is absurd to take children. It is absurd to take children who are practically landen."

"But we are not landen, Sir." Farraj said.

Daoud nodded. "We are terrifying Warlords of the Blood that landen cannot hope to understand."

"You cannot even summon shoes," Ali said.

"Only through lack of practice!" Daoud assured. "We have not been adequately exposed to the dark, arcane ways of our own kind!"

"Also it would help if we owned shoes," said Farraj.

"Which we can get in Cairo!" Daoud continued manically. "With Prince Lawrence, who understands that we are really are warlords of the Blood, right?" He clutched Lawrence's hand and looked up at him.

Lawrence gave thin, sad smile. "I'm sure you frightened the landen villages just by breathing," he promised. 

Daoud, clearly, had years of work against letting the truth of that make him sad. "Because we belong here with you and other such terrifying people. And now we belong in Cairo!" he finished enthusiastically.

"Lawrence," said Ali.

"There's no time to keep arguing, Ali." A pause. "Auda has already told his wives. Your queens and mine should know as well."

Ali frowned. "Go then. Perhaps I will see you again, if they throw you out for bringing these children."

"You'll certainly see more resources for the next battle, in any case," Lawrence reassured.

"Go."

And so they went. It was a long ride, but every time hot, tired silence began to reign, Daoud punctured it. "We  _ can _  get shoes in Cairo, Lord?"

"Yes."

"And see the city with its hordes of people mere landen could never face?"

"Yes."

"And, with all of our terrifying colleagues, we will quench our thirst with chalices of blood?"

Lawrence smiled. "People drink blood for special holidays, medical emergencies, and private rituals, none of which you will need to worry about anytime soon."

"Well, what should three thirsty warlords have in a terrifying City of the Blood?"

"How about glasses of lemonade?"

"We shall quench our thirst with glasses of lemonade!" Daoud proclaimed, and on they rode.

On the road until they saw the waves of sand, a more ruddy brown color than anywhere they'd ridden.

"Perhaps it is a good time to rest, before.... that?" Farraj asked.

"No rest until Cairo," Lawrence said. "I have to tell them what I did."

The boys took deep breaths.

"It's just another echo of old battles. Dead witches and uncaring queens twisted the sands, but there are paths." He drew on his Jewels a little, to observe those in his mind. The power was new, but he had years of practice not getting lost. Not even in the most twisted ways. "Just follow me. It's not hard. And then, when it's all done, you will rest in beds with clean sheets.”

"Yes, lord." And they followed. And Lawrence picked out the path, winding through the shifting red, back and forth.

It was as easy as going mad.

Then there was a scream. Lawrence looked back. Daoud's mount had gotten a leg in the red waves and reared in fright, thrashing and bolting away.

Lawrence found his mind at a corkscrew angle, trying to analyze why Daoud hadn't managed to make the turn properly, before he realized the boy had been cast into the hungry cursed sand. Farraj was trying to get him out.

Lawrence craft-tethered the remaining mounts so he and Farraj wouldn't be knocked in, then set to work casting out a the green to draw the boy back up.

But land twisted by murdered witches and uncaring queens is not the best place to relearn the fine-tuning of Craft, and the shifting sands soon had Farraj's arms, none of Daoud to be seen. 

"He's still talking!" Farraj screamed. "He's still... he's ... not."

Lawrence turned all his focus to getting Farraj away. 


	4. Dangerous Men

Lawrence had studied the theory of evolution. Not just the petty debates like, "Did we really arise from landen?" but the way various supposedly 'uncontrollable' facts of nature could be traced by the purposes they had served in letting the people of the Blood survive to dominate the world.

Warlord princes, when true to their volatile nature, served their queens in a particular way: they got to the killing edge first. The ladies couldn't lose control because they were busy dealing with the fact that one of their males had already done so, and obviously needed to be brought back from the edge. So more and more of the tantrums of slaughter were done by those who /could/ be brought back from the edge, who could only kill like men. And thus their species had not yet driven itself to extinction.

Lawrence was reminded of all this as he reflected on the fact that the only reason he would not walk -- run, /dance/ -- through the Twisted Kingdom right now, making a beeline for those inner wells of madness until his body rotted away, was that the boy still in his care had far better right to wander those paths, without even knowing what they were.

He lay on the sand -- rest indeed, his grand entrance delayed -- holding Farraj’s hands. “We need to come out. We need to be present. We need to talk about Daoud, because he’s not in the ground. He’s not, Farraj.”

Finally, a whisper. “He’s not?”

“He’s not. The two of you could talk, even when you couldn’t see each other’s faces?”

A shudder, then a slow nod. “When we were kids, we were the only ones.”

“That’s because it’s Craft. Landen can’t do that. You were both right, all along. So his soul wouldn’t go into the ground like a landen’s, so that filth didn’t trap him. The instant he stopped talking to you, he disappeared.” He had to keep explaining, for the boy. He could go mad later, when he had the right.

“...Where?”

“There are two possibilities. Do you know much about Hell?”

“No. It sounds scary.”

“To landen it might be, but not to people like us. If Daoud still had things he needed to think or say or do, then the moment he stopped talking to you, he was brought there, and he’ll be there until he sorts himself out.”

“Should I try to catch up?”

“No, no.” Lawrence tried to make the hoarse whisper as soothing as rawness could allow. “No, you have to stay with me awhile longer. Because when the dead don’t need to sort themselves out, they return to the Darkness completely. Maybe Daoud already has. And every wonderful thing he thought or said or did or was becomes part of the Darkness, and the next generation to be born to guard this world will be just a little bit greater because he was great. And you have to stay with me because you need to do and say more, to bring all you can when it is time to go. Do you understand?”

A slow nod.

“Then ride again, and we’ll get you to a bed.”

When they got to Cairo, it happened. The call to stop. The set of stupid questions. Loud little men who demanded his name and then got confused, because foreign clothes and Green Jewels … and dirt and pain and a half-Blood boy in tow.

Lawrence called, from behind the bar, a glass and a pitcher of lemonade. “Lawrence,” he calmly repeated as the glass began to frost itself over with the words. “Thomas Edward Lawrence.” He poured the lemonade with the killing edge in his eyes. 

Silence fell as he handed the glass to Farraj, who quickly began to drink. 

“Someone needs to take the boy to a bed, with sheets,” Lawrence continued, his voice so soft and lilting and the air thin and sharp around them all. “And I will go make my report to the commander.”

And so it happened, quietly.

In the commander's officer, Lawrence was grimly satisfied to see that Murray wasn’t there anymore. His replacement was an everyday warlord in Blood Opals named Edmund Allenby, who poured over Lawrence’s file.

“Multiple languages, knowledge of webwork, knowledge of poisons, knowledge…” He looked up, eyes glancing slightly under the Jewel at Lawrence’s throat, as if half-expecting an hourglass. He closed the file. “You’ve taken Aqaba?” 

“Yes.”

“For whom?”

“In the name of Queen Abdiya and for the benefit of Queen Louise’s forces in the war effort.”

“Yes, but on whose orders?” Allenby looked at Dryden, who shrugged.

“I was told to get a feel for what was going on. What was going on was that both the rebellion and our forces would be better off with the Devlet out of Aqaba. So I made things better. And now that’s done. You should start sending them supplies there.”

“Tomorrow, you can start getting together what you need to bring,” Allenby said. “A lot of Devlet prisoners?”

“I might not be the best for it, Sir.”

“What?”

“To go back out there. There are a lot of Devlet prisoners, but there were a lot of Devlet casualties, too.”

“Well, naturally. It’s a war, Lawrence. That’s to be expected. Were the casualties on our side worse?”

“No, not many at all, not counting the ones I killed myself.”

“Well, how many of our side did you kill, Lawrence?” Allenby asked as if it were the natural progression of the question. He probably had a form for that, when it came to warlord princes.

“Two.”

“Caste?”

“Warlords. One execution, one accident.”

“Well, try to maintain control, Lawrence. Now, I don’t mean to be prying, but when’s the last time a lady showed you a good time?”

“Never, sir.”

“Never?” Allenby raised an eyebrow. In the corner of Lawrence’s eye, Dryden left the room.

“I prefer not to.”

“Now, Lawrence, even aside from basic socialization, I hear that sort of thing can have an effect.”

“It’s not the problem, sir. If you must know, a few nights before Aqaba, I kept private company with one of the local men.”

“Ah, good.” Allenby looked reassured. “For whom?”

“No ladies were watching, sir.”

The concern returned to Allenby’s eyes and slowly increased. “...Caste?”

“He’s a warlord prince.”

“Two warlord princes. Not exactly /stable/, Lawrence. With no ladies, that kind of relationship could get people killed.”

“Guess you shouldn’t send me back out there, then, sir.”

“I’m not going to surrender a newfound advantage over your personal issues, Lawrence. You’re the man for the job.”

“I think that’s still arguable, sir.”

“I don’t," said a voice behind him just as the psychic scent hit. The males all stood at attention as Dryden escorted Gertrude Bell into the room, in her Purple Dusk jewels and eminently practical clothes.

“Prince Lawrence, good to see you.”

“My lady.” He did not particularly dislike her as a person. They’d alternately agreed and disagreed on matters of scholarship and strategy. But Lawrence could never say it was especially good be in the presence of a queen. He never liked the instinct that drew him up right from the socks, that made him fully cognizant of himself, his responsibilities … his nature. 

“Well done in Aqaba.”

“Thank you.”

“And the reward for a job well done is more jobs. I’ve got the feeling being a warlord prince in the field has interfered with your habits.”

“More than one, my lady.”

“But I doubt you can look me in the eye and say you want to go home.”

“True, my lady.”

“So rest up, pack up, and head out, and maybe you fellows can settle this whole thing for us eventually.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“We certainly don’t want things to escalate. Especially wouldn’t be best for poor Queen Abdiya, at her age and resources. I very much hope all goes well there.” She sounded more sincere than she did truly optimistic. Lawrence very purposely did not meet the eyes of any males in the room to look for how enthusiastically they shared that hope.


	5. Act the Dream

There were ladies in Faisal’s camp, but strictly healers.

And the prince was looking at Lawrence. “I applaud your victories so far, but I admit I do not fully understand what it is you are asking to do with my men?” 

“To make the Devlet feel what it’s like to have no resources, sir. We’re going to go damage wind-paths, one after another. All their busiest routes.”

“I see. And you do not fear this could stir the Devlet to send more than men into combat?”

“They can’t, sir. Their queen has her own Western ally to think of. She knows her corruption has left her dependent. And if the war escalated in /that/ way...”

“Then Queen Xenia of the North and your Queen Louise would sigh together over their cousin’s ashes that their hand was forced.” 

They turned when a green glow caught their eyes. Ali was floating two men in Devlet uniforms to the healers.

“Prisoners, restrained completely to have their wounds treated so they don’t fester,” Ali said.

The words “I appreciate that, Ali,” were said at the exact same time by the two men, Lawrence’s in the tone of anxiety relieved, Faisal’s in matter-of-fact politeness.

Ali fidgeted just slightly as he carefully looked to Faisal. “You’re welcome, my lord.”

And soon they were off, and transportation routes began to divert and jam in blasts and webs of green and sapphire. Surviving coachmen were imprisoned, surviving goods seized. 

One day, Auda picked up, after such a capture, a crate of cocoa. “Perfect for the day,” he said, then smiled brightly to Lawrence, slightly less to Ali, and less still to one of Lawrence’s western colleagues. “Ah, well,” he said. “Back to my wives.”

“You can’t just /leave/!” called the Opal-clad Westerner.

“I am a married man!” was Auda’s only retort as he rode off, with his men. 

Ali and Lawrence looked at each other, speaking spear-to-spear on a green psychic thread.

_*Please do not try to explain to him. The rebellion is grateful for your queen’s help, of course, but ...he doesn’t need to know when local queens are vulnerable.*_

__

__

*Very well. I don’t envy Auda three sleepless days wanting to kill anything in sight.*

*Indeed. You have very little risk of being a married man. You also do not seem bothered by the loss of forces.*

_*They’ll be back. In the meantime, we will work with those we have.*_

And day after day, now that the darkest workings they could manage were green, Lawrence’s wind-traps became more and more elaborate. But twisting got the job done. Until one went wrong, the backlash of Craft rattling all shields, leaving men pulling themselves, trembling, to their feet afterwards.

All but one.

Farraj lay on the ground, motionless except for the faintest breathing, blood seeping the ground, eyes glazing over.

As Lawrence scrambled to him, there were the faintest words in his mind, the boy’s mouth too weak to move.

“I always catch up with Daoud eventually.”

Lawrence froze. “I may see you both in Hell,” he told him tenderly. “But don’t wait for me.”

Once the boy had passed, Ali got Lawrence and their small force away.

And they pressed on. And on. As numbers dwindled, Lawrence did not decrease their number of operations. Until Ali had enough.

“Lawrence, if you do not slow down, there will be just the two of us. Scale back. Let us try to pace ourselves.”

Lawrence looked directly ahead. “Ali, in the old stories, how are rights acquired in times of oppression? How do lands heal, in distant times, when territorial queens become corrupt?”

Ali glared at him. “Oh, yes. Witch Herself ascends the Dark Throne and tells /everyone/ how it’s going to be. Lawrence, you are not divine.”

“But we can’t flinch or dither any more than she would. And this is how it’s going to be, Ali. We’re going to keep going, full-speed, until this land has a proper queen!”

“Mine or yours?” Ali snapped. 

“Yours! That’s why we /can’t/ slow down! Can’t show weakness! Can’t look like further insinuations are needed!”Lawrence reined himself in. What men they had were agitated enough seeing two warlord princes argue. “Now I’m going to do reconnaissance in Deraa and come back with a plan that will work.”

Deraa went badly.

When Ali found Lawrence, his jewels were still intact, but his eyes looked broken. For several days, he ate, drank, and rested only when coaxed. The resting had to be on his stomach.

The injuries did not look much worse than those that could be gotten on a very, very rough night of fun and hospitality. In fact, some of the injuries were very similar indeed, to Ali’s practiced eye, except with all the difference in the world, when not on a volunteer. 

Ali treated the livid red lines and near-floral bruises as best he could while Lawrence slept. As he woke, Ali was immediately repelled. “No!” echoed in the cold

Ali stepped back, moved into sight. “I understand,” he said, swallowing his visceral reaction.

“You don’t… you can’t…” Lawrence breathed heavily, then turned those summer-sky eyes up to him. “No touching. You can’t be an exception anymore, Ali. There can’t be any more exceptions. It doesn’t matter anymore how careful you are. There’s nothing left for care”

“What about healers? That is different?”

Lawrence paused. “...Maybe one healer. Alone. If you can vouch for her.”

“Then one healer: competent, discreet. Nothing but the best for you. She can even refer you to one of our only black wido--”

“NO!”

Again, Ali bit back his visceral response and waited for the frost to fade. There was chill enough already, in the late autumn air seeping in from outside.

Lawrence wheezed. “One healer. No black widows.”

“Of course. I’m surprised I even got you to /rest/. You never learn.”

“Oh, I’ve learned all right.”

“...What?”

A little more heavy breathing, and then, in a quiet lilt. “I’ll rest. I’ll see one healer. For you. I... certainly won’t waste an exceptionally busy black widow’s time, when I’ll be leaving.”

“.../What?/” 

“I’m going back, Ali. Back to making maps in nasty little backrooms.”

“What? What about the rebellion?”

“She’s /your/ queen, Ali,” Lawrence said softly. “Stop trusting foreigners.”

Some might say Ali looked liked he’d just been kicked. This would be inaccurate. Kicked, Ali would be surrounded by shields, readying spells, possibly at the killing edge. This was just shocked pain.

Finally. “How can you go back?”

“After the healer, I’ll head for Allenby’s current headquarters.”

“That is a long journey.”

“I’ll take easy stages.”

“/You/?”

“Yes, easy stages.”

“This is unnatural.”

“No, Ali, what we had, you and I, was unnatural.”

Ali outright snarled. “What are you talking about? So a lady was not watching, that did not make it wrong.”

“Of course it wasn’t wrong. I didn’t say it was wrong. I said it was unnatural.” Slowly, as he continued, Lawrence’s voice changed from the soft lilt into biting off the words. “Naturally, a male won’t turn down a lady without a good reason. Naturally, a bunch will volunteer for hospitality. Naturally, a lady will watch when two fit fellows go at it.” He stopped for a breath. “Every single thing that’s Naturally Expected is one less inch of me that’s mine. Quiet nights in the middle of the desert, irrelevant to anything but what two people choose… that left me room inside. But there’s none left now. Every inch is gone.”

“Lawrence, this is why people need trea--”

“It has nothing to do with that,” Lawrence interrupted. “The ones I couldn’t fight off… by the time they were done with me, I tried to tell them where /you/ were. You’re only all right because they didn’t care.”

“Any man might have in such circumstances!” Ali argued. “It’s only nat….”

“/Exactly./ So I’m being natural now. East is East, and West is West, and when something goes wrong, you /fall back./”

***

The Winsol season was just starting. As Lawrence approached the base in a borrowed Western uniform, he could hear the carol. It was a classic: hearty voices raised in good cheer as soldiers hung decorations and poured the hot blooded rum.

“Who knows when She’s coming back, / the Queen of queens with Jewels of Black? / Won’t be time to mobilise, --”

Lawrence stepped up and did his best joining in the end. Pleasant. Merry. Normal. “So better make the place look nice.”

As the song ended, everyone looked at him. “All right there, sir?”

“Oh, yes,” Lawrence said.

“Time for a holiday drink?”

Lawrence paused for a moment, looking at the hot blooded rum. “Have to wait until after my meeting, I’m afraid.”

“Right. Ah, remember when we all thought it’d all be over by Winsol, sir?”

Lawrence had never believed it for a moment. “Oh, yes. Those were the days, eh?” And upstairs he went.

In the office when he arrived were Allenby, Dryden, and Faisal.

They all turned to look at him.

“Well, gentlemen, I will leave you with Prince Lawrence, who no doubt has much report about what precisely my family are … cut out for … of relevance to Queen Louise. And Queen Marianne, of course; we mustn’t forget her.”

“I’ve told you, sir,” Allenby said. “There is no treaty.”

“Yes, you have lied bravely, but not convincingly. I am well aware of the treaty.”

“Treaty, sir?” Lawrence asked.

Feisa looked at him sadly, then smiled with his mouth alone. “Ah, Lawrence, do your talents never cease?” He looked to Allenby. “You should take lessons.” Then he stormed from the room.

Once he was gone, Lawrence looked to Allenby and repeated, much slower, already holding back the sigh, “...Treaty, sir?”

“Hell’s Fire,” Allenby said. “If you don’t already know, what’s this?” He picked up a message from his desk.

“My request for transfer back to your map rooms. But I’m willing to be flexible. Anything mindless and inconsequential will do.”

“Why would you ever send this unless you know about the Sykes-Picot Treaty?”

“It’s not a treaty, sir,” Dryden said. “Mr. Sykes is seven circles out in Queen Louise’s service. Monsieur Picot is six circles out in Queen Marianne’s. Their agreement to divide the Devlet territory between their queens, on the assumption that Queen Abdiya and her family ‘are not cut out for it,’ was signed by men only.”

“Well, the whole damned war’s men-only, if we can just keep it that way,” Allenby said.

Lawrence stared directly forward for a while, at the Winsol decorations. “You know, perhaps She’s never coming back. Perhaps She’s sick of us. I know I am.”

“Oh, certainly,” Allenby said drily. “Come now, Lawrence. You may not have known, but you’re not /surprised./ Now what’s the meaning of this transfer request?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lawrence watched Dryden quietly leave the room. He made a note to be ready this time, but first he answered Allenby’s question. “It’s personal.”

“Personal? Things go wrong already with that warlord prince of Faisal’s? What were the casualties?”

“IT WAS NOT HIS FAULT!” Lawrence snarled, from melancholy to the killing edge in an instant.

“Of course not,” said the voice behind him, just as the scent hit. “Prince Lawrence, could you please do me the favor of recommending some books that contain combinations of modern languages and the Old Tongue?”

At first Lawrence, eyes still locked on Allenby, didn’t move as he slowly spoke. “Well, if you’re trying to teach a student to read the Old Tongue, Whealovar’s is certainly a reliable text with side-by-side translation comparisons. If you’re looking for reading yourself, or for someone of an equally thorough education, Gavriel’s historical dramas interweave languages like making a basket, provided you don’t mind that the basket is full of puns.”

“I shall look into that, thank you,” Gertrude Bell said as the other males in the room blinked, not at a queen’s pulling a warlord prince from the edge with an unrelated request, but at the request’s being so very… bookish. “Now, was there something of importance being discussed, gentleman?”

“Lawrence’s requesting transfer from a vital military assignment. I need his irregular forces as part of the push for Damascus. I’m prepared to give full funding, but I can’t have him just giving up.”

“Those would be Queen Abdiya’s irregular forces, yes?” she asked.

It was Lawrence who gave an emphatic, “Yes.”

“Well,” she said. “I believe when all is said and done, finally, and queens who can travel start arriving, the first men in Damascus will have a seat at the negotiating tables, to hammer out all sorts of facts and plans. Loud little men seven circles out can only be so loud in the face of victors. Provided those victors can communicate well with others, anyway.”

Lawrence listened intently. 

“Now,” she continued. “Do we still need to discuss this transfer request?”

“No, my lady… provided Lord Allenby understands the race is on, and I will win.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It will take some time, of course, but Damascus will be a fine belated Winsol present for ... Queen Abdiya.


	6. Open Eyes

Ali was reading a book as the collected forces camped. 

Auda strode over to him and gestured to the cover. “What does this say?”

Ali glared. “...A Child’s Guide to the Modern Court.”

“Oh, our courts are to be modern now? My wives run things modern enough for me.” 

“And how are your wives?”

Auda smiled. “Magnificent!” Auda looked out at a figure rallying disparate local troops. “And how is Lawrence?”

“‘Funded.’ He offered /me/ money.” Ali bit off the words.

“You? To serve your own queen? How many casualties?”

Ali looked back to the book. “None.”

“That glad to see him back, eh?”

“ ...Others have taken the money… besides married men.”

Auda nodded. “He has them crowded around him like a queen at court. Well, that is how you get enough to take Damascus, I suppose.”

Ali glared smolderingly at a page about rules of order in diplomatic meetings. Finally, he closed the book and made his way over to Lawrence, trying to draw him aside.

“Lawrence, half these men aren’t revolutionaries; they’re brigands.”

“The Devlet won’t know the difference as they’re losing, Ali.”

“And your colleagues won’t know the difference as we’re negotiating.”

“The important thing is getting Damascus. Then we’ll just keep abreast of that until the First Escort arrives. I’ll be there for you, don’t worry.”

“...How much of you will be there?”

Lawrence’s eyes were cool. “The important thing is to take Damascus.”

***

On they rode for days. Lawrence would take out maps, search with Craft, and find shortcuts.  Eventually, they ascertained Devlet forces far ahead. Ways around them were discussed, to avoid delay on the way to Damascus. As they began doing so, they passed a landen village.

_ *Something is strange over there,* _ Auda told Lawrence, spear to spear. He turned to ride toward the village. * _ Let’s see.* _

_ *Auda, don’t frighten them any more than necessary,*  _ Lawrence said as he quickly rode after him. Others soon followed, Ali included.

Auda paused _. *...It seems there is no one to frighten.* _

And when Lawrence reached the village, it was filled with corpses. Landen women, men, and children lay in rank carnage. The smell of rot and landen blood filled the air.

Lawrence at first looked for signs of survivors and failed. His eyes alighted on two bodies, teenage males. He looked at the boyish faces, Jewelless throats, and bare feet.

While Ali was commenting on how disgusting and cruel the Devlet were, doing such things  to landen, Lawrence wasn’t thinking about landen at all.

When they rode again, Lawrence began to lead them straight for the departing Devlet forces.

_ *Lawrence*, _ Ali said, spear to spear. * _ Lawrence, Damascus.* _

Lawrence rode on.

_ *Lawrence, you said we need to focus on Damascus.* _

Lawrence rode on, and as they approached the Devlet forces, a scream ran through the air and on countless light psychic threads:  _ “No Prisoners!” _

_ *No Prisoners.* _

_ *No Prisoners.* _

Lawrence led by example, and he did not stop. The slaughter was almost ladylike. Nothing could bring him back from the edge until the sand was absorbing viscera in something out of a landen horror story, albeit with no landen to see it.

Only when the Devlet brigade was completely obliterated, when enough blood and enough craft had been unleashed to haunt the spot for years, did Lawrence pause.

 

***

Several days later, the town hall of Damascus bore a banner with the seal of Queen Abdiya, though she and all her family were still many miles away. And when the doors opened, their erupted both a great deal of shouting and the figure of Auda  storming off.

Lawrence and Ali followed after him. “Auda!”

“I am a married man! I do not have to listen to loud little men with nothing to say. Who cares how these cities are to operate? I am going home.” Auda looked to Lawrence. “And you should come with me. My wives have room in their court. And they are …” He grinned.  “.../very/ satisfied. They would never ask for anything you did not want to give.”

“I have queens, Auda.”

“You count the days until your service expires. Deny it!”

Lawrence stood silent.

“Do some clever mathematics, consider the day come, and come with me!. No one will care.”

Lawrence shook his head. Auda stormed off.

Lawrence then looked to Ali. “What about you?”

“... I am staying here. I am learning politics.”

“Terrible profession,” Lawrence said blankly.

“I had no thought of it when I met you,” Ali growled and stormed away.

Lawrence stood in silence. And in silence, he reached out, knowing the trick. There it was, a green thread, spear to spear.  Auda and Ali. Lawrence eavesdropped.

_ *You love him?* _

_ *I fear him.* _

_ *Fear does not make a warlord prince weep.* _

_ *If I fear him, who love him, then in all his self-contempt, he must be so scared.* _

Lawrence released the thread, stood in silence, then walked back into a roomful of loud little men.

When Allenby and Dryden arrived the next day, Ali was there as the senior representative of Queen Abdiya’s forces. Lawrence was translating for him as Ali attempted to negotiate, defending the ability of his queen’s forces to handle the city without ceding it to those better-resourced.

“Have you even gotten in healers?” Allenby asked drily.

“Where we could.”

“Even for the wounded Devlet prisoners?”

Lawrence could still smell the blood and rot as he muttered a quick translation of Ali’s “We would appreciate help with that, and with the repairs to the waterworks.”

By the time Allenby says “Then perhaps the banners are a little inappropriate,” Lawrence was walking twisted paths.

But then he heard Ali’s voice, carefully rhythmic, and Lawrence looked to Allenby and Dryden.

“He says ‘My queen has fought this war longer than anyone, that the land might one day be renewed with care. She has valued her allies and values them still, but to say that this land must be theirs and not hers is to do all queens a disservice, and the land as well. Does your Queen Louise really want you to claim in her name yet another spot she will never help cultivate?  When there could have been gardens that were truly loved? Should the civilized relief of suffering be extorted at such a price?’”

“Well, I certainly hope you can relieve some suffering, Lord Allenby,” said a voice behind Lawrence, just as the scent hit, and all the males stood. There she was, Purple Dusk Jewels, practical travelling clothes and all. And with her was Prince Faisal.

“Lady Bell and I met on the road,” Faisal said.

“Takes quite a bit longer than a coach on the wind, but those are a bit difficult right now,” she said cheerily.

Allenby nodded to her, then, “We can get some more healers as a stopgap measure, and let the ladies and the first escorts take lead in further negotiations.”

As polite thanks were delivered, Lawrence could feel it.  A purple thread, distaff-to-spear.

_ *Quite a speech your young man was giving.* _

_ *My lady.* _

_ *Interesting translation choices you were making.* _

_ *My lady.* _

_ *I could have sworn those were the local words to that rhyme for boys.* _

_ *My lady.* _

_ *The one about how the ring of honor is silver and the ring of love is gold … because the latter will never make you forsake the former, and all that.* _

_ *My lady.* _

_ *Quite a young man you have there.* _

_ *I don’t ‘have’ anyone, my lady.* _  Lawrence watched as Ali went to stand beside Faisal.

_ *Oh, your time’s almost up, isn’t it? Going home?* _

_ *Yes, I should.* _

_ *Well, I suppose it’s only natural.* _


End file.
